Snapshots
by Benet1003
Summary: 100 Alt!World one-shots. Chapter 3: Lincoln and Liv meet. And it's not nearly as happy a moment as you'd think. Vague spoilers for 6:02.
1. Seeing Red

**Title: **Seeing Red

**Prompt: **Beginning

**Characters/Pairing: **Lincoln/AltLivia, Henry

**A/N: **Just the first in a series of fairly unplanned one-shots revolving around the Alt!World.

It's two in the morning when his phone rings. In the past forty-eight hours alone, he's closed two vortex' and investigated three more possible Class Four events; it'd been a hell of shift, and when he finally pulled himself into bed at eleven thirty, he'd had no intention of getting up until Tuesday.

And then the phone rang.

He knew that she knew exactly what a heinous couple of days it had been. In fact, she was the one who'd suggested sleeping until Tuesday, just seconds after she'd forbid him from so much as _thinking _about entering her apartment until he was caught up on sleep.

"Maybe if you're good though," she'd practically purred as soon as Charlie had stepped out his office, "I'll get a sitter for Henry, and I'll stop by tomorrow morning. See if I can help you sleep better."

For her to be calling it would have to be bad news; he didn't realize how bad it was until he realized it was Marilyn, not Liv, on the other end of the line.

She was sobbing uncontrollably into the receiver, trying to relay some sort of message to him that was far too garbled by her tears to be comprehensible. The only thing he really understood was _St. Cement's Hospital_. Funny, how those three words were enough to make him wish it'd been Liv on the phone with a Class Seven event.

He was still dressed from work, and if he hadn't been, he wasn't sure it would matter. He would have run into the streets in nothing but his boxers and bare feet just to get to the hospital two minutes faster.

Not that it really would have mattered, because the City Transit was running on its usual schedule: twenty minutes behind.

He waited in front of the bench, pacing back and forth across the sidewalk as his imagination flooded with the thousands of equally-horrific situations she could have gotten herself into.

By the time he gets to the hospital, it's like his own personalized horror film is on a mental-repeat. He sees her covered in third degree burns, half-encased in amber, ridden with bullets, infested with beetles. It's one nightmare after another playing in full-color, right before his eyes.

So it throws him a little, when the first thing he sees after practically forcing his way through the automatic doors is _her_. She has two arms and two legs and ten fingers and she's leaning against a wall like it's the only think keeping her up; but as far as he can tell, she's perfectly fine.

Then he sees the sign above her head, and for just a fraction of a second, he wishes she weren't.

_Pediatric Emergency Care Department._

He feels like he's going to throw up.

(He will, later; after he knows she's fast asleep and he's safe, he'll pull himself from his bed, and let himself truly comprehend what he thought he lost today, and he'll be sick in a way he's never been before.)

But right now, he doesn't have the time. He's practically sprinting across the room, and every person standing in his way is nothing more than an obstacle he'd do_ anything_ to pass.

"I'm sorry sir. Immediate family only," one doctor starts to say. Lincoln honestly can't believe this man is making an effort to _stop _him. If nothing else, his Fringe Division Jacket and badge were enough to get him into any room. But he's not thinking about anything other than Henry, and he's certainly not thinking about his job. So, when he opens his mouth to rebuke the man, he doesn't list off his credentials.

"I'm his father," he mutters quickly, without thinking, without stopping. From where he's standing, he sees Liv's tear-stained eyes widen, though it's not until later that he'll actually be able to piece together what had surprised her.

By the time he reaches her, worry has reclaimed dominance in her eyes; but the tears he's though he'd seen before were dried and it takes him a few seconds, but eventually he realizes she's _much _calmer than he is.

"What's going on? Where is he?" He can't keep the panic out of his voice, though by now he knows that noting is _seriously _wrong. "Is he okay?"

Before she can answer, a nurse rounds the corner, Henry in her arms. There's something red wrapped around his left leg that he recognizes as a cast as they get closer. _A cast_.

He feels like he's going to throw up again.

He must have looked like he was going to throw up again too, because the nurse let out a soft giggle as she came to a stop in front of him, and slid the baby into _his _arms. "Don't worry, daddy," she's says with a calming smile, "your little man took a spill today, but he's going to be just fine."

He knows he should hand the baby the Liv- she's his mother after all- but he can't quite bring himself to let him go. He's held Henry a million times over the past year, but he feels awkward in his arms now. The cast is bulky, and he's fussy and squirming lethargically, like every time he moves it's unbearably painful.

He feels like he's going to throw up for the third time that night when he realizes it probably is.

He's shifts him around in his arms a bit, and mechanically begins pacing the hallway, bouncing Henry in his arms and cooing fairly incomprehensible sentiments of love and relief in an attempt to lull him to sleep.

Much later, after ten years of marriage and three kids and more visits to that same emergency room than either one of them can count, he'll realizes that _this moment_ was the beginning.

This moment, with that baby boy sleeping in his arms, and his mother watching awestruck at the other end of the hallway was _their _beginning.

It's the day he stopped being "Uncle Linc", and became "Daddy".


	2. That First Day

**Title: **That First Day

**Prompt:** School

**Character/Pairing: **Lincoln/AltLivia, Henry

**A/N: **I swear, these aren't all going to be henry!fics. It just may seem like that at the moment. Hope you like this next installment, and thank you so much for the awesome reviews! R&R!

"But I don't want to go, Daddy." Not for the first time in his life, Lincoln Lee is incredibly grateful that his son has Peter Bishop's eyes. It's hard enough to tell him anything but "okay" as it is; he can't imagine what he'd do if it was Liv's eyes staring back at him.

He imagines their house would be a lot more chaotic.

"I know, buddy," Lincoln answers with a sigh, reaching up to tousle his son's blonde locks. He _does _know. He'd rather keep him here as well; he'd told Liv as much that morning. But just as she had every other time he'd brought up his reluctance to send Henry to school, she'd met his concern with a flippant eye-roll, a sigh, and an eerily pragmatic rebuttal.

_He thought it was too dangerous, seeing as his parents were both high profile agents involved with a highly controversial government agency._

"_What are they going to do to him? They're six, Linc," she'd answered._

_He thought maybe public school was a bad idea; money wasn't an issue after all, and the Department of Defense ran a fully functional primary school just four floors below their offices._

_She'd seen though that excuse before he'd even finished talking. "Fine," she's answered, "we'll send him there if you can give me one legitimate reason why pubic school is a bad idea, and explain to me what you're going to do when you decide our son needs more than a third grade education."_

_He thought it was too risky; after all, the only people on the planet who knew Linc wasn't Henry's father were Charlie, Marilyn and the Secretary._

"_And that would be a concern," she'd conceded with a smirk, "If they were in the habit of regularly administering DNA tests at MLK Elementary."_

"But you are going to have such a good time!" He doesn't know for sure how long Liv's been standing outside the door, but if the exasperated glance she shoots him on her way in is any indication, it was long enough for her to witness his botched attempt at cheering Henry up. "You're going to make so many new friends, and learn so many new things!"

She's packing his lunch now: a grape juice box, a ham and cheese sandwich, a bag of grapes and a chocolate chip cookie. It's a perfectly balanced meal that he knows she's been planning for a week. She's half dressed for work, and even as she's putting the finishing touches on the meal, she's balancing the baby on her right hip and attempting to comfort Henry with a seemingly never-ending list of the wonderful things he's going to do at school.

And he's still kneeling on the floor, trying not to cry as he buttons his son's steel grey pea-coat.

As soon as he's slid the last button into place, Henry's sprinting across the living room, suddenly excited about being a _kindergartner_. He doesn't know if he's more amazed by their son's resilience or by just how damn _good _Liv is at being a mom.

"You going to be okay there, Linc? Or do you need me to drop him off?"Her voice is dripping with amusement, and he's glad, really. One of them should be enjoying the morning, and it certainly isn't going to be him.

"I'll be fine, _Dunham_. Don't you worry your pretty little head about me." There are at least four separate entendres meant to rile her up embedded in that one sentence, and sure enough, when he looks up, he sees equal parts amusement and irritation playing across her face.

"We're going to be late, Dad!" Henry calls, poking his head back into the kitchen. With his little grey pea-coat and his little blue sneakers, and his sandy-blonde, wispy hair, and his little backpack, pulled tight against his little back, he really is the _cutest _thing Lincoln has ever seen.

Liv drops a kiss to her son's head and wraps her free arm around him, pulling her snug to her chest. "You're going to do awesome today, okay nugget?"

Henry nods. "You too, mom. Save the world, okay?"

"Sure thing, kiddo," she mutters; for a half a second, Lincoln watches her carefully crafted mask slip away. All her bravado and confidence and nonchalance melt away, replaced just for a second by the very emotions he knows are written all over his face.

Sadness. Fear. Reluctance.

He makes a mental note to assign the team something time-consuming today; she'll never admit it, but she'll need the distraction as much as he will.

As Henry races out the room, he slides his arm around her waist. "I'll see you at HQ?"

She nods. "I just have to drop this one," she bounces the little girl on her hip, and he can't help but smile at the cooing infant as she reaches out, wrapping her little hand around his finger for just a second, "off at my mom's. I'll be in around nine, if that's okay, boss."

She smirks, and he laughs. He knows her well enough to know what she's doing, and he doesn't blame her. It's not like he's _not _going to be the one she comes to this afternoon, missing her nugget and needing a little bit of comfort.

"I'll see you then, Liv," he whispers, catching her lips for just a second in a quick kiss. "You're going to do fine, Liv. He's going to be fine. We're all going to be just fine."

Then the horn beeps, and they can't help but laugh. "Good God, Linc," she laughs as he backs out of the room, "there is no doubting that child is yours!"

_Yeah_, he thinks as he walks out the door and towards the car, a real smile on his face for the first time that day, _she really is _that _good._


	3. Of Bets and First Impressions

**Title: **Of Bets and First Impressions

**Prompt: **Rain

**Pairing/Characters: **Lincoln, AltLivia, Charlie

**A/N: **Last time, I swore these weren't all going to be henry!fics. This time, I'm promising that not _all _of the fics are going to be from Lincoln's POV. Anyways, hope you're all enjoying the fics! This one's set a few years before we meet the alt!team As always, R&R!

Oh, and _clearly_, Fringe is not mine. (In this universe or otherwise.)

Also- this one is a _little_ darker than the other ones… Just a warning.

It takes Broyles less than two days to find a replacement for Shane Wilkes.

At 19:36 on Tuesday night, Lincoln watches as the amber he'd released solidifies around his partner and ends his life.

At 22:00 he finishes his shift and heads to the bar; it's well into Wednesday before Charlie finds him passed out on a park bench outside his building.

At 8:00 on Wednesday morning, he calls in sick.

By noon, he's sitting in the back row of a church paying his respects to a man who, just yesterday qualified as his best friend. By the time he approaches the empty casket to say his final goodbye, he's already become so much more than that.

He's the first man Lincoln's ever lost on his watch, and he knows he'll _never _forget him.

At 7:30 Thursday morning, he walks into Fringe Division HQ and she's already there.

Her badge is already hanging from her jacket, and her standard-issue pulse gun is holstered at her hip. Her dark blonde hair is pulled up into a tight ponytail, and she's sitting on top of Shane's desk like she owns it with a cocky smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Olivia Dunham," she says, sticking out her hand as he walks past her, "You must be Agent Lee."

He walks past her without a word and doesn't speak to her for the rest of the week.

And that's pretty much the way her first month with Fringe Division goes.

She's there every morning at 7:30 and refuses to leave until the day's work is done. She's good at her job, and he hears through the grapevine that the Secretary himself handpicked for the job. He learns to respect her as an agent- everyone does. But aside from clipped case related discussions, and barked orders, he doesn't speak to her.

Never mind the fact that he's her supervising officer, and it's a pain to have to find an interloper every time he needs to relay even the smallest piece of information; it's worth it.

"Class Four Event, gravitational degradation reported and radiation levels are being measured at nearly six times the fatal dosage. Quarantine recommendation is pending from HQ."

It's nine in the morning on a Tuesday thirty-five days after she appeared on Liberty Island. He knows it's her first serious Fringe Event with the department, and as a professional courtesy he'd sent Charlie to rebrief her on protocol before they'd left; the very last thing he needed was his rookie freezing out there this morning.

When the transport pulls up to the police boundary, it's pouring rain out. The water adds an extra layer of confusion to an already-hysterical atmosphere, and he can feel the panic even from within the van. He's tries not to let it get to him, but the memories from the last major event he'd worked are still raw, and he can already feel his pulse racing.

He's fairly sure he's alone in his panic. Someone from the outside pulls the van door open, and he watches as his agents- each looking more stoic than the last- descends into the madness. And then he sees her, and she looks _absolutely petrified_. In the month that she's been working under him, he's never seen her wearing anything other than a variation on her trademark _cocky _smirk, and it's a little unnerving to see the fear so plainly displayed on her face. But he'd never let her know that, so when she glances at him for just a second before she too descends into the hysteria, he offers no words of advice. He just turns to Charlie and whispers "I'll bet you fifty bucks I have her resignation by the end of the day," slight louder than he needs to.

Just before she jumps out, she whips around- any angriest version of her usual smirk firmly etched onto her face- and spits out something that sounds a lot like "I'll take that bet."

The storm complicates their usual procedure, but thunderstorm and all it only takes him five minutes to reclassify this event as a vortex and officially initiate quarantine protocol.

As group leader, it's his job to physically release the amber, and it's his least favorite part of the job; it's the kind of thing that no type of protocol or words of advice can help with. It's taken him almost two and a half years, and he's _just_ figuring out for himself which little things make it easier. He's always been a little bit of an emotional guy; blocking that part of himself out is usually the most helpful,

He's usually pretty good at it.

The vortex originated in a picnic house in the middle of a State Park, and that's where he is now. He can hear the panic and the tears and he chaos outside the building, but within its four stone walls, there's only silence.

The first real sound comes from the metal dispenser hitting the concrete, and the second is the sickeningly familiar countdown.

_Quarantine device unlocked. Warning: Massive loss of life will result._

The third is a whimper, and Lincoln's half-way out the door when he hears it. Protocol says he should get the hell out of there, but he looks back anyways. He knows he made a mistake when he sees the little boy caught underneath a table on the other side of the room.

It's the same way Shane died- stuck- and even though he knows that it's a good as suicide, he walks back into the room, the countdown blinking and flashing and opposing his every step.

_Sixty seconds._

He reaches the table, and sees that it's fallen across the boy's chest. At least three of his ribs are broken, and if his labored breathing is any indication, one of them probably punctured his lung.

_Fifty seconds._

He wants to move the table off the boy, but he has no idea what kind of internal injuries he has. He tries to shake him, but he won't respond. He won't move. He won't talk. He won't look at him.

_Forty seconds._

He won't breathe.

_Thirty seconds_.

Lincoln can't move. He knows without a doubt that every second he spends kneeling in front of this dead child exponentially increases his chances of dying; but by this point, he's already resigned himself to death.

_Twenty seconds._

He feels a hand on his elbow, pulling him to his feet and dragging him across the room. Before he can even truly comprehend what's going on, he's out of building and they're running.

_Zero seconds. Detonating now._

He can see the quarantine line in front of him, and just as the countdown ends and the amber-gas begins to seep into the atmosphere, he's pulled through it.

He ends up in a heap on the ground, directly on top of whoever had just saved his life.

He expects it to be Charlie; but the body underneath his is softer than he thinks Charlie's would be, and smaller, and warmer and smells like mango.

He lies on top of her for a good five seconds before the adrenaline in his brain's dissipated enough to allow for conscious thought.

The very first thing he thinks it that Olivia Dunham just saved his life.

The second is that he's lying on top of her.

The third is that he owes her fifty bucks.

**A/N 2: **I'm honestly not sure about this one… In theory, I like it a lot. In reality though… I'm more meh-ish. I went back and forth between them getting along right off the back, and having to work at it, and eventually I decided on this…

Agree? Disagree?


End file.
